Saturday, March 10, 2012

That night when you leave your mother'sdead body behind in the hospital, makesure to look back one last time. Don'tforget this is finite, like the last greenslippers she knit you for Christmasthat will last one more winter, then snagon a stray nail, unraveling right beforeyour eyes. And whatever you do, take the carkeys from your father, who will insist on drivinghome even as the sky clots orangewith clouds of forgetting. "Anyone know any goodjokes?" he will say as he barrels downthe freeway, fine tuning the radio. Say:no. Say: not yet. Say: let's slow down.

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